


The Charm Is Firm

by jellymankelly



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellymankelly/pseuds/jellymankelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She realizes for the first time that she hasn't the faintest clue where this blonde stranger is taking her. Or even what her purpose in rescuing Santana was in the first place, if in fact that was her intention. The woman could be a serial killer for all she knows, and she just handed herself over, like a lamb to the slaughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so here's the thing, friends, Romans, countrymen. This was supposed to be posted (and completed - haha...) in collusion with Swinging Cloud's THE BRITTANA FANDOM'S SPOOKTACULAR TOUCH-A-TOUCH ME DIRTY FICTION DOUBLE FEATURE! over at FanFiction.Net (Special tag #DUBSPOOK on Tumblr - her fic Mash is super fantastic, guys. Go check it out.) However, life took over and I did not get nearly as far with it as I had hoped. Obviously, considering today is Halloween. But I figured (hoped) that better late than never would serve here, so I'm posting it anyways. So don't any of you little goblins tell Cloud I'm tardy. She'll yell at me again, that's like having a little kid reject you for a hug. Hurtful.
> 
> I expect it to be somewhere around 3 or 4 chapters, all told. And I plan to have them all posted within a week's time. Special shout out to crammit, who was kind enough to indulge in my minor nerdgasm when a simple editing session turned into an hour long conversation about the niceties of grammar. Check out her story Shed. It's fluffy and sexy and perfect. As per ushe. Also check out the other submissions under the #DUBSPOOK tag. I haven't read 'em all yet, but I hear good things.
> 
> ONE OTHER THING AND THEN I SWEAR I'LL SHUT UP. I actually got inspired to do this story while watching Pretty Woman a few months back, but for reasons unexplained it got put on the back-burner. So if the beginning of the story is suspiciously familiar to you, well...at least I didn't copy the script word for word, okay? Also, the supernatural bits of this story have borrowed HEAVILY from the universe of one of my favorite fantasy fiction novel series, so...again, at least I didn't just copy and paste. You have been warned. Hope you guys like it, despite the blatant plagerism, and Happy Halloween!

Chapter One

"Yo, bitch, where you think you goin'? I told you you ain't workin' tonight! You hear me slut? Don't you be walkin' away. You gon' be the tricks  _and_  treats for our party, mamacita. We gon' tear you up!"

Santana shudders and quickens her pace, her eyes fixed on her destination - a pub, not four blocks away. She just needs to get inside, then she'll have no problem losing Romano and his sycophantic gang of crackheads and thugs. She pulls up short when she sees two of his men stroll out of an alley two blocks ahead, cutting off her path. A brisk wind whips her hair across her shoulders as she turns back, hoping to locate some form of escape she might have missed in her haste to get to the pub. She finds none, and notes Romano's rapid approach. He's still ambling along casually to avoid garnering unwanted attention, but his pace is quick enough that he's already gained on her.

_Shit._

She is about to step into the street to cross when a car roars to life to her immediate left. A mass of tousled blonde hair pops out of the driver's side window of a sleek periwinkle blue Dodge Viper, lashing about in the breeze, obscuring the driver's face.

"Get in!"

Santana's steps falter just before she steps off the curb. She stares blankly at the stranger, only snapping back to reality at the sound of Romano's wolf-whistle and half-shouted profanities. She makes to stride into the street once more when the driver calls out again.

"Young lady with the red dress! Get in!"

Romano is nearly upon her now, she's hesitated for too long. She makes a snap decision and circles quickly back to the passenger side and jumps in. Almost before she can get the door closed, the driver hits the gas and the car surges forward into traffic with a low snarl.

Silence reigns for the moment as Santana tries subtly to observe her rescuer. She's mildly surprised to find that the mysterious driver is in fact, a woman. And a beautiful one at that.  _Although,_  she thinks to herself amusedly,  _perhaps the baby blue sports car should have been a tip off. Not too many men would be willing to paint a car this color, in my experience._  She's startled out of her silent contemplation by the woman's voice.

"So, I take it the gentleman was not a friend of yours?"

Santana snorts derisively. "Hardly."

"Your, ah, what is the word...blimp?"

The question is frank and, as far as Santana can tell, free of judgement, but even despite the silly mistake, it still puts her hackles up. She does her best not to bristle at stranger - it's a valid question, considering her rather obvious occupation, but it still stings that that's the first assumption the woman makes. Despite her attempt to reign in her admittedly short-fused temper, her reply is clipped and curtly delivered.

"The word is 'pimp'," she grinds out, "and no, he is not. He runs my roommate, however, and seems to have decided that by the transitive property, now I'm his too.  _Cabrón._ "

The blonde chuckles lightly, but makes no other response.

The sound grates across Santana's already wounded ego. "Something amusing?"

"No, I suppose not. I apologize, I meant no offense. You just...You surprise me, that is all."

The brunette's brow furrows in confusion and irritation. Confusion wins. "I surprise you," she repeats. It's not phrased as a question, but the woman seems to take it as such, and continues.

"You do. Tis my own fault, really. I allowed myself to become prejudiced by your society's preconceptions. I merely find it...intriguing that a lady of your profession is so, hmmm," she pauses as if searching for the appropriate adjective. Santana does her best not to cringe in anticipation. "Articulate. You are surprisingly articulate. I find it refreshing, actually."

The slightly patronizing tone to the woman's voice sets Santana's teeth on end, but she holds her tongue. Anyone as well spoken as this stranger, and as well dressed, is likely to be worth quite a fair bit of change. Santana eyes the perfectly tailored suit, noting its fine make and somewhat androgynous cut.

_Hmm. Perhaps I can salvage some portion of tonight after all._

Schooling her voice into a low purr, she replies with a simple, "Indeed." She has to bite the inside of her lip to hide the smirk that threatens when the stranger shifts slightly in her bucket seat.

"So," the driver says breezily after a long moment, "if it is not too personal a question, what kind of figures might a creature of your occupation make in a given night?"

Santana chuckles cynically at the suggestion that any question could be 'too personal' for a  _hooker_. Glancing at her erstwhile knight in shining hot rods, she considers her answer. If there's a chance she can do business with this woman, she can probably get away with charging much more than a normal trick might cost. She sends a silent prayer of thanks into the great unknown that she chose one of her least tatty outfits before going out this evening- a slinky little red lace number that hugs her slim waist and hips like a second skin, showing off her more ample charms perfectly, and black 'fuck me' pumps. Had she been wearing anything else, she doubts she would be able to convince the woman of even her regular fee, much less a higher figure. She settles on a figure at least double her normal take.

"Four hundred."

The blonde lets out a low whistle of appreciation. "A pretty penny, that would be."

"Well worth it, I assure you. I've far more experience and creativity than an amateur, I get monthly check ups at the free clinics, so I'm probably cleaner too. And I'm always safe."

"It pleases me to hear so."

Santana doesn't quite know what to make of that particular response, so she meets it only with silence. Coming from anyone else, she would take it at face value as a simple go ahead, but nothing about this woman is simple, and in unfamiliar territory, Santana prefers too little over too much.

She glances out the window and realizes for the first time that she hasn't the faintest clue where this blonde stranger is taking her. Or even what her purpose in rescuing Santana was in the first place, if in fact that was her intention. The sky overhead is quickly becoming obscured behind a heavy layer of dark cloud cover, further enforcing the sense of foreboding that fills the brunette's mind. Her stomach twists in fear and she silently berates herself for her carelessness. The woman could be a serial killer for all she knows, and she just handed herself over, like a lamb to the slaughter.

Almost as if picking up on her unvoiced anxieties, the driver speaks again. "We are approximately seventeen miles from my house. I would be happy to call for a cab to take you anywhere you wish to go, once we arrive."

Barely checking a sigh of mingled relief and disappointment, Santana murmurs a quiet "thank you."

_So much for salvaging the night. Dammit._

A thick silence coats the interior of the car, and the brunette is content to let it settle. She watches passively as the view outside her window becomes increasingly less urbanized, until finally she can see nothing but the vague outline of trees in the dim of the evening. Apparently this strange woman's house is somewhat...remote. Briefly, Santana wonders what her business could have possibly been in such a seedy part of town.  _Clearly she doesn't want for money_ , she thinks, absently stroking the cream-colored leather of her seat.

Her mental ruminations are cut short when the heavy foliage around them suddenly breaks to reveal their destination. Or at least the entrance to it. A huge, intricately decorated iron-wrought fence looms before them, bracketed on either side by massive stone columns. The columns are topped by, of all things,  _unicorns_. Though the carvings are majestic and a little intimidating in their own right, Santana can't help but snicker silently at their existence.  _I mean, come_ on. _Unicorns? Seriously?_

Her thoughts are once again cut off when they finally round the bend of what appears to be the world's longest winding driveway and approach the house situated at the top of a gently cresting hill.

' _House,'_  Santana muses in shock,  _seems a bit of an understatement._  The establishment before them sprawls elegantly, filling the entire windshield with its bulk. Santana thinks she can count two -no  _three_  separate wings from their position a few hundred yards away. As the car approaches, slowly devouring the white stone gravel beneath it, the mansion - she can't think of it as a house, she just can't - only seems to multiply in size and magnificence.

The slate grey edifice is saved from mind numbing intimidation by the absurdly bright window shutters and trim that surround the dozens upon dozens of windows it boasts. No two sets of shutters are the same color, and every single one seems to have been painted with the decorating choices of a five year old. It's difficult to tell in the night air, but Santana would bet her best boots that those are  _polka-dots_  on some of the window trimmings.

_Dios mio, I've been rescued by a kindergartner in a woman's body._

She doesn't notice the car's lack of motion until the passenger door swings open on its own and a pale hand reaches down to her. She blinks and follows it up until she reaches the eyes of its owner - the driver. Her gaze shifts back down to the hand in confusion.  _Does she want money for saving me? God, wouldn't that be just like me, to be rescued by the one woman in the world who wants to_ take _money from a hooker instead of give it._  She's shaken out of her cynicism by the woman's voice.

"Your hand? Tis a bit tricky exiting the vehicle, especially in such constricting apparel..."

Santana glances up again to find the woman is solemn, but her eyes sparkle with a strange mixture of laughter and...sadness? "I...Oh...Oh. Uhm, Th-thank you," she stutters. She hadn't noticed before, since they had both been facing the same direction during the car ride, but her mysterious rescuer really has the most amazing eyes Santana thinks she's ever seen. Even in the dark of night they seem to glow as if lit from within by an unquenchable azure flame. The odd cat-like slant to them only serves to make them more exotic and alluring.

Shaking herself from her reverie, the brunette flushes with embarrassment at her own awkward staring and places a hand tentatively in the one held out to her. A jolt runs through her the instant skin touches skin and she jerks her hand back, as if burned. She looks up at the woman questioningly, but the blonde seems unfazed by whatever just passed between them. Shaking her head again at her own foolishness, Santana reaches for the offered hand again, only to squeak in surprise when it all but pulls her from the car with a single fluid motion.

Already unsure of herself in this strange place and with this strange woman, Santana's natural grace and sure-footedness momentarily abandons her and she stumbles. Her eyes clench shut and she braces herself for her inevitable impact against the gravel below her.

It never comes.

"Are you quite alright?"

Her eyes pop open and shoot down to find a strong arm braced against her torso just under her breasts, and a hand firmly gripping her right shoulder. Springing away from the woman, Santana struggles to regain her equilibrium as much as she can in such an uncertain situation. Her hands flutter nervously down her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles and nerves alike.

"I'm fine, thank you," she snaps defensively. Immediately she regrets her sharp tone and turns to apologize. Dark brown eyes reach sparkling blue just in time to catch them snapping up from somewhere in the vicinity her backside just inhabited. Realizing that the blonde had been checking her out normally would have made her smirk in satisfaction, but now she just shifts uncomfortably.  _This night just keeps getting better and better._

"Come, I suspect this evening's events have been rather trying on your nerves. Allow me to offer you some refreshment before you take your leave?"

"Are you European or something?" The words slip out of Santana's mouth before she can stop them and even the hand she claps over her mouth can't bring them back. The woman, for her part, merely lifts a fine, blonde eyebrow at her and smiles. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Santana falters under the steady blue gaze. Squaring her shoulders, she does her best to pluck up her unusually wavering confidence and presses on. "I only wondered because your language is kind of formal and, um...archaic, frankly."

"Americans do not speak formally?" she questions lightly, with none of the affront or irritation Santana would have expected lacing her tone.

"Uh, no. No, not really. I mean, not unless they're from old money, which," she pauses as her eyes drift unconsciously towards the huge structure before them, "I guess you must be. You know what? Forget I said anything."

"I had rather not, given the choice. I find you to be unexpectedly intriguing, and I try to make a habit of recalling things that catch my interest."

Santana stares blankly for a moment, completely at a loss as to how she should respond to such a startling statement. "Um. 'Kay. That's…H-how about we get inside so I can call that cab and get out of your hair, huh?"

The blonde lifts a hand to comb through her silken locks, confusion written plainly across her exotic features.

Santana shakes her head, biting the inside of her lip to hide her smile. "God, you're kind of literal, aren't you? It's an expression - means I don't want to be an inconvenience that's all-"

A huge crackling peal of thunder tears through the sky, and seconds later both Santana and her mysterious host are well on their way to being drenched. Without another word, the woman grabs Santana's elbow in a firm grip and all but drags her up the steps and across the front terrace to the shelter of the great arch housing the front door.

Or rather, front  _doors_ , which span the height of two stories and could easily accommodate the average Asian elephant, should one require entry. The doors themselves are made of huge, dark cherry wood panels and are more ornately decorated than anything Santana has ever seen in her life. Each panel boasts a series of dizzyingly intricate patterns of knotwork carved directly into the wood's surface. They remind Santana of a ring one of her regulars always sports and swears was handcrafted in Ireland. The design of his ring is about as complicated as a child's drawing in comparison to the behemoths before the two women however, and while the legitimacy of her john's ring is questionable at best, there is no doubt in Santana's mind that these doors actually  _are_ handcrafted. And likely a couple hundred years old to boot, despite their fine polish and appearance. There's something vaguely familiar about them that she can't place, but the thought escapes her grasp almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Another tug at her elbow, much lighter this time, pulls her attention to the stranger once more, who has somehow managed to open one of the massive doors without Santana's even noticing. With an elegant wave, she gestures Santana inside. Out of the corner of her eye she notes that the door seems to swing closed on its own, without so much as a creak from its hinges.  _Because that's not creepy at all. I swear to God, if I'm walking into some kind of real life horror story, I'll cut a bitch._

The entryway - because that is absolutely what the brunette finds herself in, a freaking entryway - is dark and cold, the dark hardwood floors and wood paneling doing little to relieve the lack of light. Dimly, she can make out the woman divesting herself of her suit jacket, the crisp white of her shirt standing out against the shadow surrounding them.

"Ah," the voice is gentle, but Santana still jumps at the unexpected noise, "forgive me. A little light, I think." A sharp crack, like fingers snapping, and suddenly the entry fills with a warm yellow glow flickering from the several mounted candelabras that line both walls. In the light, it becomes apparent that the entryway is less that and more a hallway, stretching back far enough so that the end is only just visible - even with illumination.

"Whoa."

The storm seems to pick up in intensity, but the sounds are barely noticeable from within the mansion, so Santana's quiet exclamation turns out to be...not so inaudible. She flushes hotly and casts about for something to comment on that won't sound completely inane to her obviously refined host. Carved knotwork, similar to that engraved in the front doors, catches the light where it lines the tops of the wood paneling where it ends at about shoulder height and reflects it softly, and it's enough to hold Santana's attention. Again she feels a strange prickle of deja vu, as if she's seen these carvings somewhere before.

"Are these Irish?" Her hand lifts as if to follow the smooth lines of the engravings, but she curls her fingers and forces her arm back to her side before she can make contact. Turning, she startles to find slanted blue eyes fixing her in place with a piercing stare. Santana immediately shrinks in on herself at the scrutiny, wondering what exactly about her innocent - if unexpected - question could warrant such a look.

"The design?" she clarifies tremulously. "O-on the walls? And the doors?" Still nothing. "It's just - I saw a piece of jewelry once that had the same - well, a kind of similar look and I just wondered…" She trails off, anxious under the woman's unmoving eyes. Finally, as if breaking from a trance, the blonde's expression softens into a gentle smile.

"In fact they are, you have a good eye." She lifts her hand to stroke one of the carvings, fingers grazing gently over the red-gold wood. "My father crafted them, and the doors, for me as a parting gift when I left home."

"Your father?" Santana cringes slightly at the obvious skepticism in her voice. "Sorry, it's just...this whole house seems really old to have had that kind of work done by your father. I mean, you aren't exactly gonna be signing up for AARP anytime soon so...you know."

A blank stare meets her words, nothing more. In yet another fit of nerves, Santana rushes to fill the silence.

"That and the fact that these carvings look like they're kind of a repeating motif around the house, so I'm guessing they took awhile to do if they were all done by hand…"

After an uncomfortably long moment of silence, the blonde responds with an enigmatic murmur, "Appearances can be deceiving." Without another word, she turns and starts walking down the hall, only stopping to turn and beckon Santana when it becomes clear that she isn't following.

In the stranger's silent wake, Santana can't help but wonder just which appearances she was referring to.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Jogging quickly to catch up with her mysterious host's soft, receding footsteps, Santana turns sharply when she reaches the door the blonde had entered before her, and nearly screams when she comes suddenly and unexpectedly face to face with the woman herself. Her pale face is masked by the shadows that fill the unlit room, but her eyes seem to twinkle with an unearthly gleam that has nothing to do with the candlelight.

" _Holy motherfu_ \- Um...Hi there. Sorry."

Lines crease the corners of blue eyes, and although Santana can't hear anything over the pounding of her own heart, she's certain the blonde is laughing at her.  _Hell, if it were me, I'd probably on the floor right now._

Rolling her eyes at her own uncharacteristic skittishness, she straightens her spine and tries to summon as much confidence as she can muster. "Listen, I appreciate your hospitality, but if you could just point me to the nearest phone, I'll call a cab and be out of your ha- I'll be out of here as soon as they can pick me up." She deliberately lets her voice ring sharply, not wanting to show anymore nerves or vulnerability than she already has.

"I'm afraid that's not a possibility at the moment."

She stares bemusedly for a moment, not expecting any response other than polite compliance - until the words register. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, she searches for any signs of foul play in the woman's face. The laughter has faded from her eyes, and the neutral blankness left behind does nothing to soothe Santana's rising fears. She's in an untenable position right now, and only too aware of the fact. Isolated, in a stranger's house -  _enormous mansion_  - with absolutely no means of transportation beyond her own two feet if she can't get a cab.

Backing up a step and crossing her arms defensively over her chest, she fixes the half-shadowed stranger with a withering glare. She's intimidated and bullied her way out of worse situations, but something about tonight is putting her off her game. "And why is that?" Her tone is frosty at best, and brooks no nonsense.

"The power seems to be out. I'm going to go check the...check the mechanisms, but in the meantime, allow me to show you to the sitting room. There's a fireplace there that should provide adequate illumination, and warmth as well."

She passes Santana without touching her, but it doesn't put Santana at ease. Hesitation must sound in her footsteps, because after only a few feet, the taller woman stops, turns and finds Santana's suspicious gaze once more.

"Please allow me to assure you, Ms…"

"Santana. Santana Lopez."

Something flickers behind the stranger's eyes, but it's gone before Santana can identify it.

"Santana. Lovely." Thin, elegant shoulders square as the woman draws herself fully erect. Santana takes an instinctive step back at the sudden intangible mantle of authority surrounding her. "Tánaiste-Rí Bhrittaihn Mac a' Phears at your service, but you may call me Brittany if you wish," she bows slightly and Santana has the silly thought that if they'd been shaking hands, her knuckles would be getting kissed right about now. "Ms. Lopez-"

"Santana, since we're apparently on a first name basis." She means it to be friendly, but it comes out terse and strained.

The woman -  _Brittany_  - inclines her head graciously. "Thank you. Santana, please allow me to assure you - I mean you no harm. So long as you are under my care, you will be safe." The words weigh so much heavier than the situation calls for, and Santana can't help but believe their sincerity.

"A-alright. I...I didn't mean to imply...It's just, when you do what I do, there's a certain level of...you have to be prepared for anything."

Brittany nods solemnly, but the pity that would usually follow such an admission is absent from her expression. Santana finds the lack thereof strangely comforting.

Turning on her heel, her host leads her back down the hallway to one of the rooms they had initially passed. When the blonde reaches it, instead of entering, she simply holds the door, standing aside to allow Santana to proceed her. Murmuring a flustered thank you, she steps past and rushes into the room, only to stop short when she's met with the pitchy darkness within.

"A moment, if you would…" the soft voice is barely more than a whisper, and the shiver it sends down her spine makes her whole body quake. There's something there, underneath the refinement and quiet courtesy...something deep seated and wild. She's used to picking up on things like that in her johns. Usually it means a bigger take. She's used to it.

The rising heat that swells within her own body in response, she is definitely  _not_  used to.

A moment later, a huge flare fills the room, startling Santana so badly she shrieks and leaps in fright, stumbling over something behind her before she can catch herself. She hits the floor with a grunt, wincing as her head cracks against the carpeted floor with a muted thud. When she opens her eyes, Brittany is there, hovering over her with a worried expression.

Dazed from the blow, Santana can only stare in wonder at the flickering lights that reflect in concerned deep blue. A pale hand slides through her hair and cradles the base of her skull, massaging gently against her scalp. The motion stops instantly when it finds the developing lump, and Santana winces slightly at the pressure.

"Santana, are you injured? Can you hear me? Of all the foolish- I'm so sorry, Santana, I didn't even think to warn you. Please, are you well?"

Blinking a couple times to clear the fog in her brain, Santana offers a weak smile and sits up shakily. Brittany follows the motion, falling back to kneel just to her left, eyes still dark with worry.

"I'm fine, honestly. Other than the goose-egg I'm sure is developing on my skull, the only thing injured is my pride." Brittany's features screw into a light frown that. In her somewhat compromised state, Santana can't help but find it cutely attractive.

"A goose...egg? I did not find such a protuberance. Is that a common ailment among hum- ah...is that a common ailment?"

Suddenly, Santana faculties come back in full force, followed closely by blind panic. She jerks away, eyes wide. "Hold the motherfucking phone Blondie, were you about to say 'among humans'? Fucking A, I  _knew_  you weren't from around here. Oh God. I'm in a stranger's fucking  _mansion_  in the middle of a huge ass storm on fucking Halloween night. I'm gonna die here, and no one's even going to know. I bet there's a whole goddamn wing just for hiding dead bodies. When did my life become a B-horror movie? So what, are you a vampire or something? God, what am I even  _saying_ , vampires aren't  _real._  I don't believe in that shi-"

A single, long digit stills her rant with simple pressure against her lips. She stutters to a halt, eyes round with shock, confusion, and no little amount of fear.

Brittany's eyes swim with consternation. Wordlessly, she rises, extending her hand down once she's upright. After a moment's deliberation, Santana accepts, clambering awkwardly to her own feet.

"I did not intend for you find out this way," Brittany admits dispiritedly, and it does nothing for Santana's already frazzled nerves. She eyes the brunette with something akin to guilt in her sober expression. "In truth, I had not intended for you to find out at all, but I suppose there is nothing to be done for it now.

For her part, Santana remains silent. Logically she knows that there are several glaring red flags in this whole mess of a situation, but there's a small tug in her gut, a deep, instinctual recognition that she can't quite bring to the forefront of her mind, compelling her to listen. To trust. To give this Brittany a chance.

Maintaining steady eye contact, the blonde draws herself up once more, as she had when first introducing herself. "I said it before, but please allow me to aver once again, on my honor - on my  _life_  - no harm shall come to you where I am able to prevent it."

Santana stares for a moment, measuring the sincerity in Brittany's words. After a long silence, she yields with a resigned sigh. "I honestly can't for the life of me fathom why, but I think I believe you." The insistent pull inside strengthens and starts to pulse, like something trying to escape after years of confinement.

Brittany exhales slowly in relief, and a small but bright smile overtakes her face. "You honor me with your trust. If…" she swallows thickly, clearly attempting to summon courage to her purpose.

The sight of the normally calm, collected woman so visibly shaken by insecurity moves Santana to sympathy, rather reassuring her as it would have in any other case. She can't explain why, but she doesn't like seeing Brittany so unsteady. It just seems...wrong, somehow.

Brittany continues, her tone mostly even. "If you feel it is in you to extend that trust a little further, I would show you the answers to your questions." She pauses to allow for a response, and the hope shining in her eyes is so child-like and earnest, Santana can't help but give in. Sort of.

"My questions?"

"You had several, I believe, regarding this place and what I -  _who_  I am. If you still wish to know, I will show you."

Santana shrugs, unable to find a graceful response. "Well, hell," she huffs, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the front door. "It looks like I'm at least stuck here until the power comes back on anyways. Might as well." A huge peal of thunder crashes outside, rumbling so loudly she can feel the vibrations in her chest even with the deadening effects of being inside, and only serves to drive her point further home. She tosses a cavalier wave in Brittany's direction to signal her permission. It only trembles slightly, but she quickly clenches her fist to hide it. Even despite that, it's obvious the woman - creature?  _Whatever_  - it's clear that she sees straight through Santana's bluster, but kindly she makes no mention of it.

"A moment then, if you would."

"Wait." Brittany turns back, halfway back into the hallway. "You...you're not a um...God I can't believe I'm actually asking this - you're not actually a vampire, are you? I just- what?" She stops when she sees the almost  _offended_  look on Brittany's face.

"I most certainly am  _not_  a vampire," she huffs, and it's actually kind of cute. Here is this completely other-worldly creature, practically dripping with understated power, full-on  _pouting_. Like a little child.

Trying her best to keep the laughter out of her voice, Santana apologizes. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything)," she offers tentatively, and it seems to mollify whatever indignity her question had inspired, because Brittany's face slowly relaxes into sheepishness.

"Of course. I keep forgetting that this is all new to you. If you'll excuse me for a moment, there is something I must fetch. Please, make yourself at home."

Santana nods slightly, more preoccupied with how suddenly...cold and isolated she feels, now that she's alone in the room. She steps closer to the fire, chafing absently at her bare arms. Her eyes drift slowly over the face of the mantle piece, admiring the marbled deep forest green of it. The same knotwork she noticed on the paneling in the hall is etched into the face of the smooth stone, except here there is a break in the pattern to allow for a central engraving - an intricately carved rearing unicorn wrought of more twisting knots. Snorting gently at the childlike fascination her host seems to have with the creatures, Santana turns instead to survey the rest of the room. The suddenness of the fire's flare and her rather embarrassing reaction to it had robbed her of an initial impression of the place, but what she sees now only makes her smile broaden.

The walls are lined floor-to-ceiling with rich, dark oak that gleams under the fire's flickering reflection, giving the room a warm, cozy atmosphere, even despite its relative darkness. The furniture appears to have been assembled without any regard to color scheme or style, and fills the space with a riot of colors and patterns.  _And yet,_  she thinks to herself bemusedly,  _it totally works._  The rainbow of hues surrounding her turn what would otherwise be a stately and ultimately  _boring_  sitting room into a place of comfort and friendly welcoming.

As she stands observing, the heels of her shoes sink into the thick rug beneath her- for it's not a carpet as she had assumed earlier when she had almost cracked her head open on it, but just that - a huge area rug. It matches the forest green of the mantle perfectly, and looks softer than any material she's ever seen or felt. She tries to remember touching it when she fell, but there was too much else going on for her to recall. She pushes away the sudden urge to lean down and run her fingers across the rug's surface, and instead turns to the far wall.

There are several bookshelves against up against it, filled with books and knickknacks of every imaginable shape and size. She notes with amusement the presence of at least a half dozen more unicorns, each crafted from a different medium, and each more beautiful than the last.

_Kindergartner in a woman's body._

A heavy, silken weight falls about her shoulders, and she whirls to find Brittany standing right there, hands hovering just above her shoulders, keeping the robe she just draped there in place. Santana sucks in a quick breath, shocked by the mysterious woman's sudden, silent proximity, and finds herself staring up into intense azure from mere inches away.

Brittany bites her lower lip, pearly teeth setting perfectly against fleshy pink, and the motion draws her attention. It's a strange habit for someone otherwise so elegant, but there's a certain attractiveness to the action that has Santana's stomach clenching pleasantly.

After moment, Brittany tugs once more on the heavy fabric, settling it around Santana's smaller frame, and takes a step back. Santana can't decide if she feels more relief or disappointment at the break in tension, and the knowledge scares her and excites her all at once. Nothing about this night, and this semi-familiar stranger, are normal, and she finds herself completely floundering once again.

"I have...I am not sure where best I should begin," the blonde confesses. Her right hand is clenched around something in the pocket of her slacks, and the knotted muscles along her jawline give her away. She's nervous, more so than she'd probably like to admit.

Selfishly, Santana is a little grateful for the fact. The entire evening, she feels like she's been at a distinct disadvantage, but knowing that whatever Brittany is about to reveal to her is enough to shake even her cool and aloof composure, somehow helps. As if the blonde is deliberately putting them on even ground, with this one simple act.

Taking pity, she reaches for Brittany's free hand and leads them both to the deep burgundy couch that squats directly before the fire, trying with all her might to ignore the sparks that ignite in the nerves of her fingertips when they touch Brittany's warm skin. Once they're seated, bare knees brushing tentatively against charcoal slacks, Santana prods gently, hoping to smooth the way for the obviously unsettled woman sitting so close to her.

"Maybe, if I can make a suggestion…?"

Brittany nods gratefully, her fingers tightening around Santana's.

"You...You're not um...You're not human, are you?"

A subtle shake of the head. No.

Santana takes deep breath, but her fingers stay locked in Brittany's. "Okay. Okay. Um...Well, I guess start with that? Seems the logical choice," she chuckles weakly.

Brittany nods again, but doesn't move. Finally after what seems ages, she pulls her left hand from its hiding place and drops her clenched fist into her lap. Wiggling slightly to free the digits of her right hand, she opens the palm of her left to reveal a blue silk draw-string pouch, small enough to fit completely in the cradle of her palm. With a slight tug, the purse falls open like an flower unfolding in the sun, exposing a small silver pendant on a delicate chain at its center. The pendant itself is nothing remarkable, a simple piece of metal with - _of course_ \- a tiny unicorn head stamped on it. Behind the unicorn, Santana can make out a shield, and what looks to be inscription at the bottom, though the words are obscured in the shadows cast by the pouch.

"This...this is for you. It….well. For the moment, it might be better simply to show you." Standing, she holds out the pouch with the necklace nestled within for Santana, careful to keep the metal from touching her skin. When Santana makes no move to take it, she steps closer. "It is safe, I swear to you. It contains a simple charm that will allow you to see me as I am."

"Charm. As in magic? Magic is real?" She sounds like a little kid being told about Santa for the first time, but she can't bring herself to care.  _Fucking magic. On Halloween night. Go fucking figure,_  she thinks wryly. She reaches for the necklace, dropping it into her hand carefully, gasping at the warmth pooling in her palm. Looking up at Brittany expectantly, she frowns in disappointment when she remains unchanged before her.

"You…you must don the necklace. For the charm to take its effect, it must be worn." She takes a few steps back, straightening in preparation. Of what, Santana's not sure.

Carefully, the same way she might handle a newborn, she takes the chain and loops it over her head, letting the pendant rest against her skin, just above the valley between her breasts. Pulling her hair from beneath the chain to settle it again, she takes a deep breath and looks up.

And consequently loses all the air in her lungs.

Standing before her - it's still Brittany, but  _this_ Brittany...This Brittany is something else entirely.

Her hair is long, nearly to her waist, and perfectly smooth where it drapes over her shoulders and down her back. Delicate, pointed ears emerge graceful from the satin threads. Gone are her pristinely starched shirt and slacks. In their place is a full suit of armor, gleaming orange in the firelight. Silver plates cascade down her chest, her abdomen, her arms, her legs, held together by elegant gold rivets, and laid with golden whorls that flow wildly from piece to piece, swirling with flawless precision across the expanse of each plate. The line of her armor is broken only by the heavy leather belt slung across her hips, supporting the massive scabbard at her left thigh. The sword's handle is gold, and decorated with the same whorls that cover her armor, and a huge sapphire - easily the size of her thumb - is set at the end.

Lifting her eyes, Santana meets Brittany's gaze, and her breath is stolen once again. Her eyes, still that same startling blue, now glow fiercely, as if lit from within, ensnaring Santana, drawing her in.

"I...Oh. I didn't expect...You...you're  _beautiful_." Immediately she drops her eyes to her lap, mortified by her whispered outburst.

Kneeling swiftly, the...elf? She must be an elf, with those ears, Santana thinks, and then nearly slaps herself for the absurd thought.

"Sidhe, is the proper name, but by your kind's estimation, yes. I am elfkind."

Santana's head flies up at that. "She? She who- wait. Can you...Oh God can you read my mind?"

"I...It is not purposeful. I would never invade your privacy in such a crass manner, but there are occasions where your thoughts are so loud, they will enter my conscious mind whether I wish it or no. It is...It is a phenomena unique to you, it seems."

Aghast, Santana can only stare. "Me? Why? What...Can  _everyone_  read my mind?" Tears threaten her eyes at the thought. She feels completely overwhelmed, like her head has been crammed full of information with no allowance for her to process any of it. A few short hours ago, the biggest concern in her life was avoiding her roommate's pimp-boyfriend and earning enough to ensure groceries for the next week. It all seems like a world away, now. Brittany's earnest voice pulls her back to the present.

"Oh, no. It is, you and I...There is something between us, I have no explanation for it, but it is there."

For a moment, she's clueless as to what Brittany could be talking about, then she remembers. Mind reading. "Something between us." Her voice is flat, the way it gets when her emotions are running so wild she can't even begin to name them, much less control them. "Like...I don't even know what! Like a spell or something? Is that really a thing? I mean, magic? Seriously. That's what mommies tell their little girls when they don't know how to explain how shitty the real world is. It's not...it's not fucking  _real_."

"And yet, here you sit, wearing a charmed necklace, speaking to a Sidhe in true form." Her voice is gentle and encouraging, not rising to the ire in Santana's own tone. "It is a great deal to take in, I know. I would that I could help you better, but I..." Her hands lift, palms open, in a helpless shrug. "I am at a loss to make this easier for you."

"Well, fuck! Why the hell did you have to say anything in the first place, then? I was getting along just fine before you came along! Just fine!"

Instead of snapping back, Brittany's face falls, and her whole body seems to slump in dejection.

"I know. I shouldn't have interfered. It was...It was wrong and I cannot begin to express the extent of my shame. I beg your forgiveness for my selfish behavior." She kneels, eyes fixed firmly on the ground at Santana's feet, cheeks flushed with emotion.

The deep sadness in the woman's -  _elf's_  - voice pulls at something inside Santana, making her heart twinge and her stomach clench at the rawness of it. It's the same unidentified something that finds the practical stranger inexplicably familiar, and for once, Santana lets it rule her actions.

"Look, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped. I'm just kind of freaking out a little here, and I tend to lash out when that happens. It's a defense mechanism or something, I guess- Brittany." She huffs impatiently when the blonde head remains bowed. "Brittany, I'm trying to be the bigger person here and it's hard to do when you're being all noble and sorrowful or whatever. C'mon."

Blue eyes lift to meet brown tentatively, and Santana gasps at the wetness that fills them. "Geeze, you're really sincere, aren't you?" she questions wonderingly.

Brittany nods solemnly, but makes no move to dry the tears streaking her cheeks.

"Alright, if I forgive you, will you knock it off with the genuflecting shit and come over here so we can talk?"

"I- You forgive me? Truly?"

Smiling faintly at the burgeoning hope in the woman's -  _elf's_  - words, she nods firmly and offers her hand for Brittany to take. She can't hide her swift intake of breath at the shock that leaps up her arm at the contact.

Once Brittany has settled herself gingerly on the couch, plated knees knocking gently against bare ones, Santana speaks again.

"You said you were being selfish, earlier, when you basically saved me from Romano. Why? What was selfish about it?"

Brilliant scarlet flies across Brittany's face, filling her cheeks and spreading like wildfire down her neck to disappear beneath her armor. She looks utterly shamefaced, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and it's far more charming than it should be.

"I- that is- I have known you for sometime, from a distance, but I was never to make myself known." She peeks up from where she's staring at her lap, and her graceful eyebrows fly up at the simple nod Santana gives.

For her part, Santana accepts the information quietly, filing it away with the rest of the supposed impossibilities she's experienced this evening. Brittany was right before, there is definitely some kind of connection between them, and strangely, this confession only further confirms it.

When she gives no other reaction, Brittany continues uncertainly, watching carefully from beneath a fringe of blonde lashes. "I have been fighting the wish to reveal myself to you for some time, but when I saw you tonight...I couldn't sit by and watch those- those  _creatures_  harm you. And then there you were, in my home, looking...all of the arguments simply flew from my mind. I wanted to know you, Santana, and I wanted you to know me. It was selfish, and wrong, but I cannot regret it. There is something between us, something more than I can explain, and I think, sweet lady, you sense it too."

The sweet endearment, the tender way she's looking at her, all at once it's too much. Before she can think better of the action, Santana lips are crashing against Brittany's with passionate need. When Brittany rises to meet her, passion for unexpected passion, she knows she is lost.


End file.
